Oneless
by Grand Phoenix
Summary: In the end they shall destroy Him, and There Shall Be None. Brawl fic; Tabuu-centric. Includes philosophical context.
1. I: Age of Aquarius

**Disclaimer :** All characters and places belong to Nintendo, Sega, and Sony ©1999-2008.

_A/N: This fanfic features Brawl's most badass final boss, the fearsome 'one-hit kill butterfly' Tabuu! I'm sure there are people out there who wonder what exactly he is, as I have. The idea for "Oneless" came to me some time before the American release, and has since stayed with me then. Deep philosophic issues are abound, which may make "Oneless" (most particularly its first chapter) somewhat hard to read._

_Overall, please enjoy. Concrit it always welcome._

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**Oneless**

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**I.**

**Age of Aquarius**

_"In a Universe of Sin, there is only One of Pure Mind."_

* * *

He was constantly traveling.

He always had been before the Beginning of Time, before Time constricted and before Time existed. But what was Time to an all-powerful, limitless being without anatomical form? Simply so He was just there, moving at speeds light and sound could never surpass.

Time was inconsistent. Time was constant. A common variable to an uncommon equation.

Algorithms did not suit a being such as He.

Nothing mattered when the elements were right before Him. He had an affinity none could match, a mastery in the manipulation of Time and Space. Time was a half-life; it decayed like all the other elements. Planets rotted, stars went supernova, galaxies collided, and suns burned out; ends always justified the means. When you have a power beyond your imagination, things are bound to be changed by your hands.

Change was consequential. Change was inevitable. Change was the pinnacle of Free Will and Decision.

The Space-Time Continuum was a dream unlike anything He ever had. While dreams rarely made themselves known to Him, it was without a doubt that Space and Time were dreams. A waking dream, something no mortal could hope to experience. He was Enlightened, appraised that He had this ability. The feeling of tearing a hole in reality, outside Law and Matter and Physics, was phenomenal! Intoxicating! All-consuming! Words could not describe the sensation derived from the fourth dimension. Whatever happened, happened; what was, was; what is, is; and what will be will be. That was the Science of Everything.

And yet, a thought stoked His conscience. Would variable A be variable C? Will variable B become variable D? Was variable D as fixed as variables A, B, and C? Would all variables be changed by one constant, one equation?

Correlation does not equal causation.

His journeys began when He first stepped into the wormhole, and from that point on there was no end. He wandered aimlessly, gaining His bearings as He hopped one dimension and slipped into another. He learned of many things unreachable and inaccessible. He was not ashamed of the damage He was putting upon Himself, but it was something He could not reverse.

Even Gods had Limitations.

Each reality is encompassed by a single rule: reality can be changed by altercations of Free Will and Decision under the teachings of Presentism/Endurantism and Eternalism/Perdurantism. If said reality can be changed by Free Will and Decision, then a separate set of alternate realities can be attainable by the choice per individual. However, if said individual were to pick Choice A from Choice B, or Choice B from Choices A and C, then Choices A, B, and C cannot become reality save in the alternate reality itself. Therefore, all realities exist in a pocket dimension which exists in a giant dimension encased in a void of nothingness.

He did not let such things of enormity bother Him. Instead He ventured further into the unknown, bypassing event horizons and distorting the flow of gravitational time dilations, bending accretion disks and particle matters to His whim. With this method He succeeded in entering multiple universes, the disorientation of exiting numerous black holes having little to no effect on His metaphysical conscious. For lo, His mind and thought transcended the height of mortal logic, He who understood all things simple and complex constructed from the very micro-fibers of the cosmos. Nevertheless, His interest provoked Him to make His rounds across the uncharted vast, taking in every titillating detail of civilization and machination as much as possible.

He later learned the art of sealing black holes and wormholes into a dimension outside Time and Space, hidden behind a veil of unstable star clusters. It was a veil that never was. By the time He perfected the technique it was too late to pull out the lost souls sucked into the ghostly vacuums.

He didn't feel an inch of despair when they hit the singularity. It was merely a matter of Fate.

Fate, what an idyllic concept. The lesson behind it was that a person could change his or her Destiny, but not their Fate. Fate was the setting stone, the marked arrow, the bullet with your name-tag, which ultimately decided outcomes of death and war. To Him it was a very narrow-minded concept. Again, what was Fate to an omnipotent, omnipresent being? Time was nonexistent, a Socratic method to deduce madness. Fate was a predestined choice, a forced decision made upon irony's reflexes. What did Fate mean to Him?

He gave it much thought for a very long time (in spite of His convictions). When He saw and heard much from the galaxies, He deemed His question answerable:

Fate was not forced. Fate was a Given, a Choice molded by Change.

In order for Fate to be Fate, Fate had to be cultivated. There was just one problem: it was of an ordered agenda. Events worked themselves out and brought the dread of finality which Destiny (ever cruel Destiny!) willed unto its abstractions. You cannot fight two Gods with a pen or sword . . .

One thing Gods were not capable of was unwinding Time and resurrecting the dead. To corrupt the natural balance would be breaking an unspoken golden rule: to never integrate two existing (alternate) realities into a primary reality. In other words you can never have two (im)possibilities, two random alternate realities, co-exist with an on-going reality.

But He had power, power to change everything! To make the impossible possible! Who was there to stop Him?

Men had fought Gods, and Gods fought with Men. Man and God had fallen, one by one, but He concluded then and there that He would not be like them.

He Would Not Fall.

And so He fought, and He dared to challenge the laws of quantum theory. He broke through the binds which reality held and consumed the power of dead stars and black matter. He churned the threads of fate and entangled them in twines frail as spider webs and strong as steel. With His Hands He changed the ways of the multiverse, watched as worlds ended and became engulfed in darkness; watched as solar systems burned in entropy and ripped at the seams; and watched as uninhabited rocks of ice thawed and spawned their own geneses.

He wanted more. He wanted to control by His Whim and Word Alone. Why go into dimensions and enact Change when He could do so at the tip of His Finger?

He spoke to His Hands, and the further the conversation went, the more sound the idea seemed. They agreed without complaint, and with them under His rule of thumb they set off to the darkest reaches in the center of all realities.

It would be there that He would begin His Conquest. It would be there that Subspace would be born under the light of a dying sun. It would be there that the Smash Tournaments would be conceived and that the role of the Hands would ascend to greater heights.

It would be years before He planned His grand scheme. It would be years before He breathed life to the Shadow Bugs and the technologiks that followed. It would be years before He would capture the multiverse and struggle against the Beast that was Chaos, the First and the Last.

And it would be the End of Everything.


	2. II: Saturnalia

**Disclaimer :** All characters and places belong to Nintendo, Sega, and Sony ©1999-2008.

_A/N: It's been a while, hasn't it? Well then, here is Chapter Two of "Oneless": "Saturnalia". I've been thinking I might as well pound out the rest of the story, what with the remaining four chapters left to write. I doubt it will surpass the ten-thousand word mark, but who knows? it might just surprise me._

_So please enjoy. Concrit and feedback are welcomed and appreciated._

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**II.**

**Saturnalia**

_"The Heart of One shall outweigh the Heart of Many . . ."_

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Despite the abilities He possessed, it would take ten millennia before the First Primid came from out of the rotting moon's cesspool.

In order for the Conquest to be realized, He and His Hands searched the cosmos. In and out of realities they went, conducting observations on every planet and satellite they could find. Whether these worlds were inhabited or abandoned were of no importance. What _was_ important was the power of the world's core and its atmosphere. They were rich with life, drenched in so much energy; such musings made Him salivate.

It was through great planning, many lifetimes, and meticulous precision that He began to wipe out galaxies. He had to hit _hard_ and hit _fast_. The response times for retaliation differed, but from hordes of cavalrymen to armada of war cruisers He crushed them. He tossed their mobile suits round and around with His bladed whip. He cut through charging fleets with His shape-shifting body. He razed entire continents and caused oceanic eruptions with His telekinetic slashes and energy attacks.

It mattered that the ideal world they sought was vital, fruitful, and endless. If the planet's core was weak, He would do either one of two options. One, He would leave the world as it was, dying and overflowing in its own lifestain. The loins of His labors would fester and eventually take course, slowly killing off the planet. (He had heard somewhere that, given time, it would flourish once more. Considering the amount of damage he placed on it, it would take until -- no, beyond the End of Time to heal). Two, if the core was small and did not provide the sufficient energy needed He would destroy it. Shell and all, making sure every inch of the earth was erased from existence.

How many times they were churned to cosmic dust He didn't have a clue. He had kept count while He watched His Hands help tear the lands asunder. When He posed this question to Them while journeying through an Oort cloud, They looked at one another, then looked at Him and shook Themselves.

That settled it. He nodded and told Them that for now on they would no longer be concerned with the number of worlds annihilated. Their first priority was to find a stable world with a stable core. When that priority was met they would move on to what was next on the agenda: creating Subspace.

-- Subspace? They asked. What is Subspace?

-- Everything, He answered. Everything where anything is understood. A place where all Thought, Idea, and Concept can be forged and maintained. A place where Science and Religion can co-exist in harmony and unity. A place where technologiks and magicks do not conflict.

-- Can We make such a place exist? They queried.

-- We can. He said. We can and We will. Everything will be as it should be, and what should be will be.

-- Ah! And They were Enlightened.

And so Their journey continued. With it was a nuance in Their movements, one that innocents and soldiers could not wholly prepare for. This nuance came in two phases. The first phase was the Order; a simple command in a tongue of his own, a word that, with the right tone of voice, would alter the foundations of Their Will and reconstruct a path from one which was worn and new. When He gave the Order, They did not disobey. They delivered prophecy borne on wings epochs old, drove fear into those hearts like an ill-begotten plague, and ripped in the sky the eyes of Fate Inevitable. The second phase of the nuance followed upon inspecting the world core. Following the knowledge mentioned above, He would cast His Judgment; a word for the Hands to retreat, a word that was once said could not be taken back.

The people on their little rock would not see it coming. They would not understand it. They wouldn't even feel a _thing_. Just a flash of light, and then . . . nothing. Nothing, for none save He could hear the glorious music orchestrated from countless spatial disturbances. The crackling of comets, the hum of a dying star, the splash of a burst core, the roar of a black hole . . . It was brilliant! Fantastic! Stupendous! No being in the multiverse could ever hope to replicate such an orgasmic symphony!

The staunch scent of gamma radiation and musty debris would pervade His nostrils. Space dust would gather in His eyes and create a hazy fog (as if He were looking underwater and not be deterred by its rippling sensations). The muffled cry of the explosion would still echo in His ears like ocean tides. The coppery flavor of blood and fear would linger on the tip of His tongue.

It tasted _wonderful_. He knew then and there that beauty was glorious, no matter what shape, size, or color it came in.

He would love it even more, and His Hands would suffer for it.

* * *

Their journey was long, slow, and arduous, but They had finally reached an end ten thousand years later. However, if it were not for His better Judgment, Their chance at Conqest would have been a missed opportunity.

They stopped at the Spiral, the center of all realities. It was named so because of the shape it had and the way the path of stars circulated. There the triumvirate studied the worlds, planets uninhabited by extreme ice ages, grey goo, and nuclear summers. Most cores were left intact, the Hands' Master concluding that this type of world or that type did not fit His needs for His One True Goal. A few worlds had to be abandoned because of the severe damage they suffered. Left Hand even went so far as to check a planet while it was being sucked into a black hole. He and Right Hand pulled him away in the nick of time, just as the anomaly's event horizon was breached.

They burrowed further into the Spiral, growing darker and more dangerous the deeper They went. Wherever They looked the stars were blossoming in chains of hypernovae and rotating black holes. Some regions were absent of life, evidenced by waves of cooling heat entropy. Suns absorbed planets and satellites alike in their path of destruction; worlds collapsed into their weak cores and erupted; galaxies collided against one another. And following Them with every light-year made was a single supermassive black hole, slowly spinning and breathing (yes, _breathing_, for it was very much alive) heavily in place.

The Hands feared to travel by Themselves, but Their Master would have none of it. He vowed He would curb this 'fear'. It was a sign of weakness, an insecurity in one's abilities; thus He swore to punish any or all who displayed this emotion. So when They insisted not to go He threatened Them, pulled out His bladed whip and cracked Their palms and fingers.

It was Their first and last time They fled from Their Master in terror.

(It would not be the last time They would disobey Him).

A little while later found Him with the Hands. They returned and requested his opinion on a moon they discovered in a region void of stars. They lead Him to the satellite and showed Him the core, which They saw it to be strong and young and healthy. The surface, on the other hand, was horrible. It was pockmarked with giant craters, often topped with steep geysers or filled to the brim with scalding water. Cracks and crevices lined the rock hard grey earth, appearing so fragile it seemed it would break apart by setting foot on it.

The Hands asked His opinion on the matter. Should They destroy it? Should They keep it as it is? He was pondering this decision when a peculiar sight caught His eye. Above the triumvirate was a white hole. Below it was a small, shallow pit, and in it was a massive, writhing mass of black and purple. The Hands were awed and appalled to behold those things, but Their Master had a different reaction. He approached the pool in silence, ignoring His servants' panic-stricken rabble. He kneeled at the pit's edge and scooped up a palmful of the lumps.

He was surprised when He realized these were not lumps; not just things, mind you, but fist-sized beetles. He glanced at the pit, glanced at the white hole, then back at the little creatures. They did not feel solid nor physically corporeal, but their round bodies were soft, fuzzy, and -- as His finger touched them -- all-encompassing. He blinked. Deep, dark, endless . . . these aspects could only be attributed to--

-- Shadow Bugs, spoke the creatures, or rather, thought. Their voices echoed in His mind. That is what We are.

-- Shadow Bugs? said He. So that is why you feel so.

-- Indeed. We are Darkness, We are Matter, We are Shadows sentient.

-- How long have you dwelled upon this rock?

-- Many a century . . . Many a century have We laid, unmoving, unresponsive. We have watched civilizations come and go; watched peoples advance their technologiks and part for the stars; watched them war and rage and be born anew; watched as they evolved beyond mortal physiology and merge in to one naked singularity. We watched, yet We could not participate.

-- Why is that?

-- We cannot fly. We do not have long life-spans like the humans or anthropomorphs. We are wise, but We do not have the ability to create scientific marvels. Build Our homes in the moon We do, but We are lost to the words of Science and Magic, Theorems and Invocations. If the First Gods granted Us so, We would gladly leave this rock, but that is not Our place to decide what is Ours and what is not.

-- But you say you are sentient, therefore you are free from Their grasp. You do not have to heed Their demands.

-- You are a God, and a First God no less. We cannot obey your command.

-- That I may be, I am my own God. The First Gods . . . no longer matter to me. They are not a part of the Vision I seek.

-- Vision?

-- Yes. A Vision of Conquest, a Vision of Free Rule, a Vision of Everything Whole and In Between. A Vision in which Dreams are realized, made profound, and take flight. Seize this chance, fellow Shadow Bugs, and in return I shall grant all your wishes.

-- Take Us, then. Take Us to a New World. Give Us the Life We want!

And He did, but on a few conditions. He explained His plans for Conquest, where the multiverse was subjected to His Reign, where He could enact Change and deploy Fate to society as a whole. In return He asked for their utmost loyalty, that they shall obey His Word and heed His Whim without fear or hesitation. The Shadow Bugs agreed. They awaited Their first order. He told Them in order for the Conquest to become manifest He needed soldiers, an Army that could match the might of one thousand Suns and the sheer ruthlessness of black holes and ruptured cores.

-- But We cannot make you an Army, Our Liege, said the Shadow Bugs. If We did, how could We do so?

-- I am a God, proclaimed He. I am God and I am Power. I will give you Life.

And give Them Life He did. By extracting a part of Himself and breathing upon Them, the dark creatures were instantly rewarded with Knowledge. It was Knowledge, Understanding, Pursuit, and Choice that evolved Them to a higher plane of existence, changed Their way of Life and the multiverse forever. They could even move, fly, dig further than They ever could before! The Hands were amazed by these results, more so than how Their Master felt. (Deep inside Their core, dread was born. For how would They deal with the comeuppance of Their defiance?).

The next two centuries were focused on building the Liege's Army, traveling galaxies and observing Life. He incorporated natural selection via the coming of the First Primid, a spectacular event that the triumvirate could not forget. For when the Shadow Bugs were gifted They were told to create a body of Their own with a single thought, a vessel that would carry Them through fire, steel, and radiation. Into the water They went, the cesspool which They entered boiling and steaming. They, or rather _it_, emerged from the pit; a black biped in green armor and a clockwork spring on its back. One glance at its Liege and it fell to knees, declaring: "I am Primid. I Live to Serve You, My Liege."

To say He could never be more happy with His creation was an understatement.

The process continued, churning out new species and variations from the moon's scattered cesspools. His Hands worked to restore the satellite, sacrificing countless Shadow Bugs to pump the core with energy and introduce vegetation and a thriving ecosystem. Left Hand, the braver of the two Hands, was offered the task to power up the dying Sun. He agreed finished his demand upon request, tossing swarms and swarms of the insects into the cooling fires. In no time the Sun was restored, pouring cascades of silver light on the growing Army. Primids, Poppants, Bytans, Floows, Roaders, Bombeds, Greaps, Auroroses, Spaaks, Armanks . . . the list was endless!

Five thousand years into the future would see to the Army building the first boundaries of Subspace. Their moon was flourishing, their Sun radiant as the Dawn of Time, and their numbers growing each and every day. Worlds were conquered and swept clean, galaxies and asteroid belts and star clusters obliterated to distribute more room for the building Empire. Five thousand years would see to their Liege perfecting the ability of interdimensional transfer, warping certain amounts of Space and Time into the Spiral, the One True Universe. It didn't show, but they knew in their cores Subspace was expanding, maturing into the Vision they shared and dreamed.

In Time it would come. In Time it would be realized, and freedom would come true.

By then He would be raised into mythological status, earning Him many nicknames from the endless plethora of the multiverse. _Time Devourer_, _The Antithesis_, _Hell's Butterfly_, _Space King,_ _Lord of the Universe_, _Prince of Shadows_, _The Angel of Death_; these were only a few names He was known by. One title, however, would stand out from the rest, one which His Army would bless Him with.

As He took the Jyk core from their hands and plunged it in His chest, they roared and applauded. -- All Hail the Subspace Emissary! their words rang. -- All Hail the Subspace Emissary, King of the Multiverse!

The Subspace Emissary smiled, true and genuine. He spread His wings, leaned back, and held His arms in a universal embrace. -- Mine, He would think as His minions cheered. -- Mine and Mine alone! For I Am God!

Behind Him the Hands exchanged worried glances.

Another five thousand years passed. Subspace blossomed into a gratuitous pocket dimension. The Emissary announced that the Conquest would soon be in motion. The Army lusted for blood and combat. The Hands grew ever somber. The multiverse continued to reel from His mercilessness.

That was until the Ancient Minister stepped in.


	3. III: He Who Cannot Be Named

**Disclaimer :** All characters and places belong to Nintendo, Sega, and Sony, ©1999-2008.

_A/N: Let me say I'm glad to get this installment out. We're halfway through the story at this point. Three more chapters left!_

_So please enjoy. Constructive criticism is welcomed and reviews are appreciated._

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**III.**

**He Who Cannot Be Named**

_"His love for his people will be his tragic downfall and the Lord's greatest triumph."_

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Once upon a time, aeons ago, there was a planet called Terra. It was a tiny planet, just recently born into the multiverse, in a dimension with very few worlds of its own. It was the third planet from Solar the Sun and orbited in an elliptical manner. Terra had three moons: wintry Nayru, windy Farore and fiery Din, named after the goddesses whom created the homeworld and slumbered within their sacred realms. Terra was white, green and blue, the essence of nature embodied. Basked in the glow of Solar the planet drifted, untouched and pure.

The land was an epitome of harmony. Grasslands stretched as far as the horizon could take them, a sea of endless tranquility. Woodlords of spruce and pine bordered the banks of rivers and lakes, speaking in whispered tongues only the wind could hear. Snow-capped mountains stood in eternal repose, the piercing cloud covers a symbol of their yearning to reach the high heavens. Rivers, lakes and oceans shimmered beneath the sun's golden rays as they broke against cliff faces and lapped along muddy banks. Birdsong was ever present and wildlife roamed across the earth.

In those days, humans and anthropomorphs had not set foot upon Terra. Before the advent of the Smash Tournament, there was peace. Before the coming of interspecies civilization, there was the R.O.B.

The R.O.Bs -- or **R**obotic **O**perating **B**uddy, if one should prefer the meaning of their title -- were a race of sentient creatures forged from the smelting pool of the First Robot's stomach, he who was the first machine spawned from the turbulent aftermath of a technological singularity. They came in different colors and each shared the same appearance: A small rectangular head; long square pincers; rotary conveyor belts; and yellow fluorescent bulbs for eyes. Despite this they were distinguished by a language of various hums, squeaks, clicks and drones based on the pitch their voices made. They were a curious lot, often settling their gazes on anything that caught their attention. Wonders such as flowers, ants, thunder, rain, stars and comets would stir foreign emotions in their cores and turn the gears of their neural chips.

Because of this the R.O.Bs set about creating a place where they would not dare touch the earth, in fear that they might taint its ethereal beauty. Accompanied with the speed and articulation of their minds they built a city from a quarry of limestone and marble, erecting mighty observatory towers and modest temples to carry out the word and labor of nature. Their home grew and expanded each and every day, slowly rising from their foundations like plants in nurturing soil.

At the time they started there was an even number of two hundred R.O.Bs. Their leader, the Ancient Minister, divided them into two groups, one that would work during the day and the other at night. This plan was to conserve energy, the source of being awake and asleep laying in their batteries, and cut the time it took to build in half. It was a sound idea, they believed, so with his command entered in their processing banks the production models set off to accomplish this monumental task.

All the while the Ancient Minister oversaw the progress. He directed the traffic to different parts of the island they were inhabiting and gave his sixpence on what or what not should be done to the conglomerate of buildings, gardens and the like. He watched the R.O.Bs place misshapen minerals from the quarry and cut them down to smooth blocks. He watched them stack those pieces together and cement them in a fine glaze. He watched them wheel over to blueprints drawn in mounds of dirt, look at them with an inquisitive glean in their optics and size up the comparisons and contrasts between the picture and the real deal. He watched them plant colorful perennials and fill empty basins with water flowing in from artificial channels diverted from primary rivers.

He was proud to know they were capable of creating something as grand and magnificent as their holy land. However, it saddened him that they would have to leave behind the bountiful beauty that was Mother Terra. While there would be peace and nature, it would not feel same in the sky. The true oneness with creature, nature and machine on earth would never be wholly formed.

Five decades passed, and there was much preparation made for the Launching of the island. The R.O.Bs had by then finished constructing their home, but despite the potential loss they would suffer they could not wait to see the panoramic view that birds were wont granted with. As final touches were being made the Ancient Minister went on a long and melancholic journey to the center of the earth, for it was there he would offer his prayers (or, in technical terms, telecommunications) to the First Robot. Clips from his memory bank's video archive showed him the way to the Stairway of Creation, a road that lead far underground toward Terra's lodestone core and his god's smelting pool. Its walls depicted the genesis of a R.O.B, the _modus operandi_ of how it was put together from piles of scrapped metal and forgotten technologies carved with delicate strokes and curves.

The weight of time bygone brought him a sense of nostalgia and a shuttering blink to his eyes. Through the matrix of gears, pulleys, levers, hard drives, microchips and motherboards, he witnessed the most brilliant entrance in all the universe. Under the name the First R.O.B. he still contained the videos of his birth and the meeting of the First Robot.

At the end of the Stairway he arrived at the dim, aurorean chamber that was his god's smelting pool. There the Ancient Minister requested the gift of flight to support the island and a safe trip among the Launch. After giving away the layer of plates on his body (as it was customary for worshipers to sacrifice a part of oneself to the First Robot, which was usually _one_ plate) he took up his favored green cloak and left for the city, hoping for the best.

But their efforts were not in vain. The holy land rose from the ocean with the R.O.Bs on board like the mammoth hand of a giant. They stood in place, undeterred by the shift in gravity as they watched the continent shrink to a lush, viridian coin floating on the brine. Hours later, when the island had finally accustomed to the shift in gravity, two hundred **R**obotic **O**perating **B**uddies were held mesmerized by the sight of what they saw.

The sky was absolutely limitless! With its azure coat and off-white shades, the crown of Terra was a fitting masterpiece. Gulls winged across the expanse, some suspended in a pocket of timelessness as if they, too, were admiring the view. A breeze blew in cool, fresh and crisp. Solar's scarlet eye conquered the vast yonder and radiated like a beacon of hope, warmth and beginnings.

And it was a new beginning, indeed. A new way to continue the life they had on the surface, a new way to appreciate the gifts the Three Goddesses bestowed unto Terra and live for the moment.

From its long sleeves the Ancient Minister raised his arms and spread his pincers as far as he could. The R.O.Bs behind him lifted their heads and recorded his every word as it rang loud and clear in a voice as tall and large as their limestone towers and marble temples.

"We are Home."

For the first time since their creation, they finally felt true peace.

* * *

Twenty-thousand-two-hundred years.

It took twenty-thousand-two-hundred years to form Subspace. It took twenty-thousand-two-hundred years to put the fear in its name and hopelessness in peoples' hearts. It took twenty-thousand-two-hundred years to conquer one-hundred-eight dimensions, nine-hundred-fifty-eight galaxies, and one-hundred-forty-five-thousand planets. It took twenty-thousand-two-hundred years to assemble his Envisioned Army.

Twenty-thousand-two-hundred years . . . and soon, the Conquest would be recognized as Final Judgment. Live and serve the Subspace Emissary . . . or die along with the rest of the planet.

His Army's numbers were reaching nigh one million in strength and counting. The sacrifice of countless Shadow Bugs had powered their Sun exponentially and the moon was flat and smooth from centuries of paving the Road of the Space King and demarcating the infrastructure of their Lord's Castle of Time. The Castle was a titanic monstrosity; so high and large did He command it to be that its staggering height vanished altogether in the lavender and obsidian mists making up the atmosphere. But had it not been for His curious mind and quick thinking, it would have made constructing that ivory ensemble impossible.

There was a Creed the creatures of Subspace so devotedly followed to their dying breath and final malfunction. It was called the Absolute Laws and they were ratified into five separate doctrines. As per their name, they each explained what He expected of them to portray and never break, for the oath they swore upon was sacred in the name of the Conquest. To never show fear and weakness; to remain unconditionally loyal to their Lord and Master the Subspace Emissary; to obey His every command without doubt or hesitation; to never hold back the full potential they possessed; and to accomplish the goals given to them by Him at all costs by whatever means necessary.

These last two rules were what made the Castle of Time come to be. It also ascended Him to unimaginable heights of power and status. What made this spectacular was the feat He performed before their very eyes and it was one no person, be he creature, human or First God, could ever hope to replicate.

For the Conquest to be stabilized there had to a symbol the peoples of the multiverse would look upon and recall; of awe, fear, power and invulnerability. It would remind them that the Hand of God was always omnipresent and His Eye omniscient, watching their every move with a fell sense of doom. So when He teleported them to the Spiral's supermassive black hole and transferred a fraction of that dark matter to Subspace, whatever congratulatory words they had in mind died away.

They were stricken speechless as He shaped and coagulated the energy into solid material. The end results of His experiment (as He put it in the loosest meaning) were blocks as smooth as polished marble and cold as untouched ice. When the Army and Hands were told to destroy these blocks, the fourth doctrine went into full swing. Bullets, plasma, energy, fire, thunder, metal, explosions and rapid-hitting attacks rocked the moon, so much so the moon rocked beneath tremors generated from its burning core. Try as they might, they could not break the setting stones. Indestructible they were, said He, for by using the Jyk core's energy inside Him and compacting it alongside the dark matter it became a shield that would forever house the Gateway to the Center of the One True Universe, their thriving source of strength and on-the-go trump card, and the Space King Himself.

-- We shall never be defeated so long as this Castle stands, He declared to His People. -- They who oppose the Conquest and Word of God shall not regain an inch of land or light-year nor set foot beyond the Maw of Subspace. You are My Knights who Live and Serve without a shadow of a doubt Your Liege and Emissary. These Laws we forged shall be cemented through all the known multiverse, and those who disobey those Laws shall be punished in as Absolute a manner as defined by Our Creed.

The creatures roared with approval, clapping and shouting. In their hollowed homes the Shadow Bugs hummed delightfully.

-- Our Conquest shall begin once Our Castle grazes the black and starless portal of the Heavens. He continued. Whence that is done We shall set forth on the Final Frontier and then, only then, shall we Claim and Legitimize what is Rightfully Ours. We shall cleanse the multiverse of its Taint. We shall become the Highest Power the First Gods speak in hushed, fearful tones: the Masters of Space and Time Beyond the Void and In Between!

And with those words came a thunderous applause, a most delectable sound He ever heard and tasted! like the sweet honey of sin and sharp, vinegar scent of napalm in the morning. They chanted and hailed the Subspace Emissary -- Long Live the King! they cried -- with as fiery a gusto they could muster from their corporal beings.

They could not wait for that Moment to come.

* * *

But all was not well for one particular entity.

Right Hand was doing all he could to calm his erratic younger brother. Left Hand roved back and forth along the munitions platform called Final Destination. True to its name, it was a place where Subspace creatures too weak (too fearful) and inferior to uphold their positions as Knights of the Conquest were taken to be 'put to rest'. The floor, a mural of the Creation of Everything in all its cosmic magnificence, was never stained by the blood that spilled from the creatures', or rather the Shadow Bugs', bodies. They were far too immaculate and one-dimensional to avoid the Spiral's event horizon, but the barrier holding the platform and its occupants was strong enough to not be detached from gravity and fly toward the black hole, touching the inevitable point of no return.

It was one thing for Left Hand to be skeptical of their Master, for they had watched through millennia the transformation He went, but it was an entirely different matter when it came to the thought of mutiny. Albeit the younger Hand had expressed those worrisome signs, it still shocked the elder to the core.

This was serious. This was not good. In fact, it was outrageous! Betraying a First God was a felony on the behest of excommunication of the Inner Circle of Divine Authority. Betraying _the_ First God, the One God who was there from the very Beginning, from the very era Chaos awoke, was an immediate sentence of disgrace. An act as blasphemous as mutiny would mark one as Fallen and Beyond Saving for the rest of his or her life.

Right Hand did not want to lose the last of his family to a traitorous mindset. He did not want the Conquest to be the Cause of his brother's plight. He tried to dissuade him from leaving, but Left Hand would have none of it.

-- He is using us! he raved madly. -- He is using us to get what He wants! Not for us, O brother of mine, not for the Shadow Bugs who could not evolve and be closer to the One God, but for Himself!

-- Do not think such things aloud! warned Right Hand. -- Master will Punish you if He catches wind of this.

-- What will it matter? He is selfish. He is prideful. He is deceit! There will be no room for us in the Absolute Universe. There will only be blood and death and tears!

-- Dear Left Hand, said the elder, -- it may be so that what He's done is wrong, but look where it has brought us. Some planets were so defiled, its people impure and customs barbaric. We had to put them To Rest. Would you want these rapscallions to exist among Our Vision? A Vision of Free Rule, a Vision of Everything Whole and In Between, a Vision in which Dreams are realized, made profound and take flight?

-- The Vision is a Lie! cried the younger, fingers flailing wildly. -- It is Propaganda at its fullest! The Throne of God is saved solely for Him and Him Alone! There will be no sympathy, no mercy, no justice to stop His Eternal Reign! The Shadow Bugs will never know True Peace or True Salvation so long as they serve Him! This Conquest has sullied them their Way of Life!

-- But we are His Sons, they His Knights. He won't abandon us. He never will. In a Universe concocted by Chaos, one must strive to enforce Order. It is what Master is doing. Master is doing what He believes is Right!

-- And you think it Right to destroy countless worlds? Do you think it Right to hear those anguished cries, look upon those doomed and damned souls who deserve no better than a fitting death in the lives they lead? Do you think it Right they must be Punished for so much as nothing but their own petty sins? Raping them of their existence is Wrong! Robbing them of everlasting Eternity in Heaven or insufferable agony in Hell is Wrong! Bathing in their blood and tasting their tears is Wrong! It is Wrong! All Wrong!

-- Hush, O brother! Hush! Your words be weak and fearful in the Eyes of Our Lord! Please cease your misguided rambles!

-- Misguided? quoted Left Hand. -- I am misguided? Do you think me ill for spewing this nonsense? Do you think me ill for turning the other way? Nay, brother, it is not I who is misguided. It is you, you who believe in His serpent tongue, you who are held mesmerized in His black and gold gaze! Birds of a feather may flock together, but you reap what you sow, and what we have sowed unto this Universe is a Seed of Utmost Destruction! It will be the End of Everything!

-- O brother of mine, do not leave with me these horrible designs! bemoaned Right Hand. I need you as you need me! We need each other! We all shall survive this terrible ordeal as we have done with the First Gods! Stay with us!

-- I cannot! I cannot and will not be beside Him! If you wish to remain with Father, then do so. I will not stop nor change you.

-- O brother, please! Do not--!

-- Your Lord is not God. He is Tyrant! He is Pure Evil Incarnate!

Left Hand morphed into an airplane and, buffeted by his building energy, rocketed across the cosmos. Right Hand could only watch his younger sibling, his stalwart, gung-ho nuisance of a brother, became a white speck in the endless horizon. When the smoke in his wake dissipated, Left Hand was gone.

He was never seen again in the multiverse.

-- Let him go, said a voice behind him. Right Hand turned and gasped, for lo! standing at the edge of Final Destination was He, His arms crossed and wings spread in the perfect imitation of an Angel of Death. -- I shall not welcome him back.

-- Master! cried the Son.

-- Our Vision is All and Clear. Our Path to Enlightenment lies within the expansion of Subspace. There is no worth in pessimism among My Ranks. The brother you knew is no longer here. He is independent. He is free. . . . He is . . . Crazy."

-- Master . . . .

-- Do not call me Master anymore. To this day forward, I dub ye Master Hand. It is . . . a fitting name for one such intelligent specimen as you.

The newly named Master Hand bowed to his Lord. -- Thank you, My Liege. I am honored to hold this disposition. But if you are no longer Master, what then shall I call you?

-- Save for My titles, I hold no name of My own. Exiled from the First Gods I was, and with it went My name. It does not matter now, Dear Son, for I shall never go by that awful sign. If a name is what you seek of Me, then Tabuu I shall give to thee as I gave unto My Army.

-- Tabuu, said the Hand evenly, nodding. -- It suits you well for He Who Cannot Be Named.

-- Indeed, drawled the Space King. -- Now come. There is much to discuss.

* * *

And there was much to discussion between Father and Son, their ramblings and whispers made secret in the recesses of the Castle of Time. They spoke long into the night raising questions and answering problems with monosyllabic responses and inner monologues, and by the Sun's dawn they departed on an anticipating note.

Master Hand was uneasy. He listened with an undivided attentiveness as Tabuu explained the outline of their mission, nodding every now and then as He pointed out an important part that had to be done or needed back-up should anything stray from their course of action. He admitted it was a sound plan, one that was meticulously observed and revised down to the final draft.

Until he mentioned the _S.S.A. Nemesis_.

-- The _S.S.A. Nemesis_? queried he. -- What is that?

-- The _S.S.A. Nemesis_, said Tabuu. --It will be a Bird of Great Flight, a Phoenix that shall Never Fall. It will be the most feared of our devices, but not without some additional help. My Knights have detected a planet in a binary star system located far from the cluster of arms which make up the Spiral's external body. It is called Terra and it is inhabited not by humans or creatures, but sentient machines known as the R.O.B.

-- What plans do we have on Terra, my Lord Tabuu?

-- I wish to negotiate with them on terms of offering their resources to further expand Subspace. There are many an idea I want to invoke unto their Elder the Ancient Minister, who is also believed to be titled the First R.O.B. If all goes well (and dearly I do hope so) we shall be one step closer to achieving Conquest.

-- Ah! That is good to hear! said Master Hand, if somewhat nervously. --When shall we be parting?

-- One hour. Prepare Companies Alpha and Omega for launch.

Master Hand nodded his consent and left then to give command to the assorted representatives who would follow them on their journey.

They landed on Terra not a day later, fast as the Emissary and his Army was. Outside the Church of the First Robot, a massive building of grand proportions, assembled the R.O.Bs and their leader, he who was distinguished from the rest via a luminous emerald cloak.

Things did not go so well from that point.

They had argued heatedly over the details of the plan. Or rather, it was the Ancient Minister who ranted about wholeness and harmony and togetherness with the machines he called family and saying how wrong it was to commit such a crime towards Mother Nature and the One God. Tabuu, as He so introduced Himself, listened detachedly.

When the First R.O.B. finished, the Space King slowly repeated that He wanted the use of their facilities to create special bombs containing the dark matter spawned from the Spiral. This was to ensure that, while He was out destroying fragile worlds and subjugate those with an iron-clad authority an overloading of energies residing in the R.O.Bs, which would counteract with the bomb's dark matter and self-destruct.

The resulting explosion would absorb part of the planet and expand Subspace furthermore. He mentioned there need only be two R.O.Bs for it to be done.

The Ancient Minister immediately revolted at the idea. He shook his pincer at the Emissary and vehemently cursed Him for the evil, close-minded being He was. He cursed Him to go to hell and hoped He would suffer in the Jaws of Chaos for all Eternity.

Master Hand had never seen such anger before. Once upon a time he had believed machines were not capable of emotions, that they were wired to obey those commands given to them unto their superiors. What the Ancient Minister was displaying was so real, so riled, so frightening . . . .

When Tabuu's whip snapped forward and struck the frontmost R.O.B in the audience, the world came to a screeching halt.

He couldn't believe what he was seeing. He couldn't believe it was happening! His Lord only struck at His minions when they were exhausted from work or showed signs of the infamous fear that was described in the first doctrine. He only gave them rest when they were sentenced to Final Destination.

But this. . . . This was . . .

This was . . . !

The robot shattered upon impact, pincers and conveyor belts and gears and all. Detached from its body, the head sparked and rolled across the floor, sliding to a stop in front of the Ancient Minister.

He looked, and those dead, dead bulbs stared back.

-- Now, said the Angel of Death, -- you will either accept our offer or you and your people join your compatriot in the afterlife. He indicated to the pile of scrap metal with the blade of His whip. A gaze of cosmic nothingness and universal judgment bore into the lead R.O.B's core, glowing inside their sockets. -- What will it be?

There fell upon the conglomerate a deathly silence. No robot dared made a sound. Their optics, bright and full of existence, turned to the one they looked to as leader, as brother, as father. However, regardless of their gaze the Ancient Minister found himself alone in a solipsist conundrum. His processing banks was in overdrive, checking and re-checking decisions to be made, probabilities to become reality. His people were afraid. _He_ was afraid. Would he sacrifice his home and brethren to serve unto the Space King's Whim, or die under that wicked blade, his body and that of many others melting in paradise set ablaze by His Wrath?

The Ancient Minister focused on Him, the Subspace Emissary, His whip gleaning dangerously in His hand.

He told Him his choice.

The R.O.Bs gasped.

Master Hand bit back a wounded cry.

Tabuu smiled.

And the Ancient Minister Fell From Grace.

* * *

It was a dark time for the R.O.Bs, and those decades that would follow would forever be remembered as the Grim Years. No longer did peace and oneness reigned. No longer did songs permeate the atmosphere with good cheer. No longer did they greet another as they wheeled the halls or waved from balconies.

Those days were gone, replaced by shades of grey and black oil. Their Holy Land was now an Inner Circle of Hell, their lascivious prison, their perfect image of harmony, they spent sunrises and sunsets to recreate. The towers and observatories and parks and avenues, all their hard work, was torn apart by the hands of the Envisioned Army. In their places stood factories tall and wide and soulless, and from them they produced not the nature-loving automatons but emotionless soldiers garbed in one-inch guns and ready for War. Drones were pulled dripping wet with battery acid from smelting pools filled to the brim of the R.O.Bs' life fluids and carted off to be programmed the mission objectives and Absolute Laws from the Space King's telekinetic powers.

The entirety of the R.O.Bs was sentenced to build the _S.S.A. Nemesis_ on the other side of the Island. The Army delivered various metallic parts from the First Robot's smelting pool to the open grasslands which were home to the construction of the mighty gunship. Primids from different classes commanded and overlooked the enslaved machines as progress slowly surmounted to the monstrous skeletal frame.

In the midst of everything stood the Ancient Minister, his hood drawn close and his head bowed in shame. Master Hand, who was floating next to him, then felt a deep sadness settle in his core. His brother's words echoed like a symphony lost to the vacuums of space, and a motive unlike any that had crossed his thoughts appeared before him.

He knew it to be a very foolish, very cowardly move that would cost him his life, but in the dark depths of his psyche he concluded to be a good reason on his behalf and those who had found them prey to the Subspace Emissary.

He had to try. Try and get out of the mess he had started. The Shadow Bugs would have been better off if they had not sought the dying moon. Countless planets and civilizations would still be thriving if they had not joined the Space King in Exile.

For his brother, the First Gods and the One God, he would try.

* * *

A year later, when the _S.S.A. Nemesis_ was nearing completion, Tabuu gathered His Envisioned Army to the Castle of Time for the most important announcement.

It was time to commence Operation Conquest.

The ovation He received was so grand it shook the Castle's foundations.

As they departed the pocket dimension, Master Hand regretted not going with his brother to the Final Frontier. He bemoaned the fact that Tabuu, His Lord and Father, shed the skin of the First God and became the twisted, maligned monster that He was. He despaired when the words of Crazy Hand defining the Shadow Bugs' Fall hit him hardest.

He wished he could be there by his side, traveling aimlessly across the stars without Cause or Purpose. He wished he could have seized that chance. He wished these turn of events never happened.

But most of all, deep in his core of cores, he wished to die. To die and never look upon the face of War and Blood and Hopelessness. If only to escape the Pure Evil that was Tabuu, the Subspace Emissary.

It was too late. War was Imminent, looming over the horizon.

Master Hand gave a world weary sigh, the gold chains tightening with each movement made. There was nothing he could do now to stop Tabuu, nothing he could do to change his past ways.

He would pay this indecision with his Life.


	4. IV: 11:11

**Disclaimer :** All characters and places belong to Nintendo, Sega, and Sony, ©1999-2008.

_A/N: This chapter shows what happens before the events in The Subspace Emissary adventure mode. I apologize if there were any readers looking forward to my take on it, but think of this as a back-story that leads up to the game. I hope to finish Oneless before the year ends._

* * *

**IV.**

**11:11**

* * *

Tabuu was faced with a terrible dilemma.

He was alarmed when reports from Master Hand showed there was a substantial loss in the Shadow Bug population. Due to the sacrifices made to pump life into the moon and sun the number dropped to a dangerously low five thousand. What made the outlook more bleak was the lack of Primids, as they were the front-line soldiers and cannon fodder of the Army.

Their fight in the name of Conquest was dragging the effort to its knees.

It was preposterous! Unthinkable!

Master Hand had also mentioned the white hole. It was starting to close in on itself. For days the size of the anomaly was growing smaller and smaller. The Shadow Bugs spawned were few and sporadic. He tried hard to tell his Lord and Father, but advances made toward resourceful planets left him no chance to speak alone with the Emissary.

But how? How could this be happening?

And just when they were going to wage war on Terra . . . !

Tabuu hadn't realized the datapad in His hands were shaking, didn't know that all He saw in his vision was red. Red as suns. Red as planets. Red as fire and blood and wrath and death--

The Final Destination munitions platform was left with a sizable dent, the contents of the communicator laying shattered at His feet. He demanded Master Hand to dispatch and lead an aerial troop to every unknown, uncharted region in the Spiral and scour every white hole they came across for dark matter, matter that was similar to that of the Shadow Bugs. He bound the Son to the strictest, harshest vow that they could not return until they revitalized their numbers. For if they should fail He would deliver the slowest, most painful punishment their cores and nerves would ever feel, and it would be instantaneous.

Though fear suffocated his being with a merciless coil, the Master Hand complied with what little dignity he could spare and left with nary sound or word.

The Space King's wings twitched indignantly, balled fists clenched so tight. Nails pierced immortal flesh, violet fluids of plasma and stardust dripping an acrylic masterpiece on the floor. Teeth set in a nefarious snarl.

He would not stop. He would not falter. The Conquest would continue and transcend beyond mortal comprehension! These layers of cosmological metaphysical reality and finite abundance would not dare Challenge Him!

Damn the First Gods! Damn the One True God! Damn Fate and Change and Limitations! He would break the Inevitable and shape Chaos to His Very Machinations, bend the First and the Last to His Indomitable Might and Whim!

For lo! He was God, the Lord of the Multiverse, He Who Cannot Be Named, He Who Sits Upon His Throne Of Eternity, the Subspace Emissary!

Fear Him, ye mighty and fallen! Fear Him, and Despair!

* * *

Master Hand, however, did come back with a fresh supply of troops, but there were two people -- or rather one person and something that piqued His Lord's interest.

The first person was a tall, muscular man of coal-brushed skin and braided hair fashioned in the likes of a hellish sun. He was of noble stature clad in regal armor and lustrous necklaces and bracelets. His wine-red cloak enveloped the back of his being, presenting the alien masses with the divine emblem of the Triforce; those fragments he so desired to gain that were Courage, Wisdom, and Strength. A beautiful broadsword of burnished gold was buckled to his hip, a massive hand dwarfing the chitin hilt, ready to be drawn at any instance. The man introduced himself to Tabuu as Ganondorf the Herald of Strength, a Master of Puppets, and bowed low to the entity with a flourish of the cloak.

The second thing was a universal enigma. Subspace's Creator studied warily the person (for He could not grasp another word to describe it) standing next to Ganondorf, emitting soft and curious beeps and clicks as it took in its surroundings. This person . . . this . . . creature . . . was two-dimensional, a being with no discernible feature to prove it was breathing, that it was sentient, that it was alive. It was literally a piece of Chaos made corporeal.

-- And What, or Who, is This? -- asked Tabuu to Ganondorf.

The Deceiver smiled. -- That I do not know myself, My Lord, but is it not wise to understand that which cannot be answered rather than it be questioned? I, for one, believe so, but let us return to Your question. -- Here the man gestured to the person. -- This thing you see here, Your Excellency, is but a remnant of an Era unknown and nonexistent save those First Gods and the One True God; an Era utterly silent, utterly remote that has been there since the Beginning of Everything. Before Time. Before Life. Before Sentience. Before Concepts and Art and Math and Logic and Good and Evil. Before the Spiral from Infinity's Womb and lay itself unto Chaos. This is the first reproductive cell in the entirety of the Multiverse. Alpha and Omega. This is . . . Chaos Embodied.

-- Chaos Embodied . . . . -- whispered He in awe.

-- That is correct, O' Lord of the Stars -- said Ganondorf. -- Our little Avatar is the solution to your predicament. It is with this that will rejuvenate Your meager troop. It will give You any and all vices You wish to manifest. Magicks, dark magicks, technologicks; it is a venerable well of Infinity and Eternity. Therefore it cannot die -- except for the complete, utter annihilation of each and every cell divided via mitosis. --

* * *

The weapons were mass-produced. The Army grew exponentially by the day. Construction on the S.S.A. Nemesis was completed at the end of the year. New allies were made and loyalties were forged unto the name of the Absolute Laws and the Subspace Emissary. Tabuu's four subordinates were Ganondorf the Deceiver, Bowser King of Koopas, King Dedede, and Wario. They were assigned positions that were best suited for their abilities.

Although he had been in the Melee season, Ganondorf was introduced to the Ancient Minister as his apprentice; and it was through him he learned the high-end technology in and around the Castle, from the Army's front-line troops and His Lord's Honor Guard the R.O.B.s to the S.S.A. Nemesis. It had been decided that the ship would be the last line of defense to Subspace's Jump Gate -- the dimensional tear that metaphysically separated this arm of the Multiverse and the Core of the Spiral. Its location was already determined to open above Terra's Cardinal Ocean when the Conquest began (and, as a possible worse-case scenario, would be the rendezvous point in the case reinforcements were needed). When the year drew to the close, and Conquest ever closer, Tabuu knighted Ganondorf as Commander of the Skies of the Air Fleet and Captain of the Nemesis.

King Bowser was named Weapons Maestro and Commander of the Earth of the Ground Fleet. He had made, customized, synthesized, and experimented on various types of weaponry and equipment, whether it be to enhance one's strength and speed or the power behind energy based attacks. If a weapon failed to meet his expectations it would be back to the drawing board to eliminate its flaws and administer it to perfection. Two weapons, however, impressed the Angel of Death upon observation. One was an anti-matter gun dubbed the Dark Cannon, which upon firing a single golden arrow would strike and petrify a a corporeal being. The second was a particle bomb incorporated with the Principles of Interdimensional Transfer; it would draw in a certain amount of Space and Time upon detonation and expand Subspace, thus creating a Big Rip -- a scar between dimensions that leave only photons and nothing but. According to Bowser, two R.O.B.s would have to be linked to the bomb and sacrificed in order for its full capacity to be released.

The Ancient Minister loudly objected this course of action, but Tabuu threatened to have him put to rest when He plunged His hand into an unfortunate robot and tore out its core. He warned to punish more for his insubordination, but the Ancient Minister no longer protested after the incident.

It was hopeless, and it grieved him so.

Lastly, Dedede and Wario were named Maintenance Officer and Troop Relief Manager respectively. As Commanders of the Wind they would journey Terra to Army garrisons set up along the land and lend them their aid. Dedede would repair the broken, injured, and malfunctioned; and Wario would supply them with ammunition commissioned by Bowser. Those who opposed and resisted the Conquest were to be shot on sight via Dark Cannon and handed over to the Commanders to be delivered unscathed to Lord Tabuu immediately.

What He planned to do with the petrified victims was unknown, but one could guess that once the Conquest was Obtained He would rob them of their mortal coil, passing Judgment in a way befitting the nature of their world. Set them on fire, impale them with their own swords, devour their souls, break their minds and leave them a twitching, stuttering mess on the floor . . . .

There would be no room for sinners and the damned in His Universe.

* * *

And finally, when the Moment Had Come, Tabuu watched from the Castle's tallest spire as the Army slipped through the Jump Gate in a slow, foreboding march. His Jyx Core pulsed amidst the deafening buzz of engines and gentle hum of the portal being pierced.

Various emotions welled within Him. Of pride. Of glory. Of anger. Of wonder. Of patience, awe, and anticipation. It was the first time He had truly gone out of His way to rebel the One True God, to wage War on His Body and Change the Fate of the Multiverse through violent means. It had literally felt as if it had been an eternity . . . since That Day. When He Challenged God's Word. When He Dared to Break the Ties of His Destiny.

When He Fell from the Heavens and Escaped the Jaws of Chaos.

Chaos, the Beginning.

Chaos, the End.

Chaos, Master of Space and Time Beyond the Void and In Between.

Did He regret defying His Lord and Father? No.

Did He wish to inscribe His Life in His Own Words? Yes.

Did He revel at the Power He held within His Grasp? Yes.

Did He yearn to fight the Beast that was Chaos once more? Yes, indeed.

For in this Moment of Time, the Time That Waited to Be Born Anew, the effort of countless millennia spent and lost souls vanquished would rest upon the Final Outcome. Life and Death; Good and Evil.

Terra did not matter to Him. The R.O.B.s did not matter to Him. Nor the Ancient Minister, Master Hand, or the Commanders.

He wanted it All. All Of It! To Become What Chaos Stole From Him! The First God who Defied God and Put Him to Rest!

Here and Now.

Now or Never.

* * *

_For lo, His Greed shall tear apart the Multiverse, and the Clock of Doom will near the Hour of End._

* * *


	5. V: Nothing But Remains

**Disclaimer :** All characters and places belong to Nintendo, Sega, and Sony, ©1999-2008.

* * *

**V.**

**Nothing But Remains**

* * *

_"Now I lay me down to sleep,  
I pray the Lord my soul to keep;  
Should I die before I wake,  
I pray the Lord my soul to take."_

He had heard those words from long, long ago. When the idea of conducting the Conquest was new to them: him and Left Hand and He Who Cannot Be Named. It was from a planet infantile and oblivious to interdimensional travel, alien entities, and multiple universes. A world ripe with energy,

Before its destruction was imminent, he had been told by Tabuu the words were from a prayer elders taught to their children before they went to sleep. To them it was a common custom based on their religion, asking for the One True God to protect them from being assaulted by the demons of the Closed Space, an uninhabitable void that lay beyond the Spiral.

But could the One True God protect them from His Son the Sinned? Could He perceive the inevitable doom that would befall them?

Certainly not.

And just like that, they could Not Be Saved.

He pitied them, those humans. In a universe where only they were the supreme rulers, it must have been a lonely existence. Perhaps, in a twisted sense of altruism, it was for the best. They never knew of what the First God planned to use the core for. They never knew the devastation left behind.

Truly there was nothing left of the rock they called home -- no debris or space dust or galactic juices to lap up. They were Gone in a flash of light. The humans were No More.

So would this, too, be for the better good? Slowly succumbing to third degree burns all along his body and suffering from a ruptured, internally bleeding core? If Death so desired to whisk him away at such an opportune time, it would be now. Now, so he would not have to watch everything the Smashers held dear be grappled in an iron fist. So he would be spared the sight of their execution. Their Judgment.

Yet who would have thought a small contingent of warriors would arise from Terra's ruins and fight to their last breath? With the Avatar of Chaos Embodied, the Shadow Bugs, and a full arsenal of technological omnicide at hand's reach, they would have been outnumbered and overwhelmed! But imagine the turn of events when the Avatar, King Bowser, Lord Ganondorf, and Wario were persuaded to dethrone the Subspace Emissary! And the Ancient Minister -- O' He, the First and Last R.O.B., abandoned the Conquest in favor of seeking Vengeance and Redemption!

Toward the Stairway to the Spiral they go, intent on finishing the War of Wars. They who opposed Him of Their Free Will and sought to cast Him to the bottomless pit of Nowhere.

Why did he not have Their Strength? Why did he not heed His Brother's words when the path was open? Why did he not refuse to conduct his Creator's _magnum opus_ at the very Beginning?

Woe betide him! If only he had the courage to speak his mind and forsake the corruption festering in his Master's soul!

If only . . . .

_If only . . . ._

Right Hand sighed, suddenly feeling very, very cold. _'There is nought else I can do,'_ he mused morosely. _'I have played my part, and I accept the End for what it is. At the very least . . . I can look forward . . . . . to traversing the Stars . . . . . forevermore . . . .'_

High above, a Crack marred the tainted black of Subspace. One, then two, then four, eight, sixteen, thirty-two, sixty-two, one-hundred-four, two-hundred-eight Cracks dragged soundless scratches across the gloom and unfurled blinding, colorless light unto the dimension. Multiple universes entombed in floating bubbles popped to airy oblivion and glass steps shattered one by one.

_'M-Maybe . . . . . n-next time . . . . . ar-around . . . . . things . . . . . w-will . . . . . be . . . . . mo-more . . . . in . . . ter . . . est . . . . ing . . . . . . . ."_

The world around him began to evaporate.

* * *

His Jyx core spilling out clear plasma from the serration in His chest, Tabuu, the Time Devourer, smiled humorlessly at the Smashers gathered below His hovering form.

"Job well done, Terrans. For preventing the Conquest's final phase, I shall give unto you a parting gift, My Final Act as Tabuu, The Subspace Emissary. Here Is Your Reward."

The core exploded. Light engulfed Everything.

And then there were None.


	6. VI: Wonderland

**Disclaimer :** All characters and places belong to Nintendo, Sega, and Sony ©1999-2008.

* * *

**VI.**

**Wonderland**

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In the Beginning there was Nothing.

In the Beginning there was Nothing save a single Seed.

This Seed was a tiny mote of dust, aimlessly drifting in Darkness. It gave off a sphere of light, and it would repeat its course unto eternity.

But suddenly, a miracle occurred. The Seed split in two, and that Seed likewise split in two. They performed this act until there many Seeds; so many they bathed the Darkness in colorful radiance.

They glowed brighter . . . and brighter . . . and brighter.

And as they did there elicited a cacophonic hum of galactic harmony.

Then, with a note of finality, the brilliance from the shells of their bodies exploded.

Lo! for in its place was an infinite ocean cloaked in starry diamonds suspended in a cloak of blazing sunlight. Lands there were none but a clear blue, glimmering sea. Bubbles round of shape and various size containing all manner of peoples and creatures and objects and lands gently broke the surface and floated on winds new and pure toward the horizon.

Across Space and Time, a Voice declared: -- Life! --

Amidst the surf's lulling melody and a bird's caw, there stood a boy on the shore. A boy who touched his chest with his right hand and gasped in awe:

-- I Have A Heart. --

And There Was Life.


End file.
